The Honour of Your Presence
by Mary Brandon
Summary: A young girl's struggles and ideas as she discovers the true meaning of her life


It was in the year of 1873, if I remember correctly, that I had begun to consider God's wondrous creation of a most beautiful thing. I had been but twelve years old, and yet I knew so much for my age. As I look back over the years, I find that I even comprehended life's wicked degradations, and minded them with each step of the way into the life I now hold. My heart loved the most enchanting of things, but the most that I loved was God's divine earth with each little indulgence and charm He chose to offer. I had been an orphan by the time I was ten years, and was taken in warmly by my aunt and uncle residing in York, England. My father had been transferred to the States on business, and so, when he and my mother died (both within days of each other, as they both bore the scarlet fever), I was sent to York from Boston. I remember both of them as always being in the most dismal of spirits, but Father had the most cheery laughter I have ever heard, and beckoned for me to sit upon his knee and watch him smoke a pipe from time to time. Mother often seized me in her loving arms, kissing me affectionately and saying she loved me as no other daughter could be loved. I miss them for those wonderful moments.  
As I went to live with my aunt and uncle, bewilderment filled my mind and possessed my heart with a wrenching feeling of regret. I don't know what that regret might have been for, but perhaps before I die, I may learn of it and set my mind at rest. My uncle, who had been wealthy all his life, sent me, with the hearty approval of my aunt, to a boarding school in London. I had never been away from home in all my life, and naturally felt insecure and uncertain of everything that was and had taken place. But more than that, I felt set apart. Set apart from all the world: the social gatherings, the gossips, the flirtatious chatter girls were sure to produce, and so forth. I didn't know at the time what this feeling of being set apart might have been, but I did not mind it so very much at all because I felt loved by Someone I did not know.  
My two-year interval at the boarding school was one spent in unnatural concern, if not a bit of harmony. I pondered daily, wandering the sidewalks and wondering why I had been placed so unhesitatingly into an unknown school, silent and incredulous as to how my background had passed. I must say that fear attached itself to my troublesome heart and I longed to be set free from its constraining grasps; but I did not know how to.  
I was known as the "imbecile," for though I ate and drank as any ordinary girl, I did not speak but a "yes, ma'am" or a "no, ma'am" when it was absolutely obligatory. Often, my teachers drew out the rod, tempting me to speak for no particular reason, so that I was forced to. When this occurred, I was encouraged to be laughed at and sent to my room with the words, "I AM MUTE" written on a board and placed in my hands to display. What I had done to deserve this persecution from my fellow scholars and tutors, I did not know. 

My aunt wrote me very long, encouraging letters during those two years. Before signing each letter, she would always inscribe these words, "Be strong in God our Salvation, and you shall live happily." These words puzzled me then, as I was only ten years old, but I have come to appreciate what they mean, and thank Heaven for the aunt I was blessed to name my own. My uncle, though I had come to love him as no more than an uncle, did not seem to care for me very much, as each time we met he gazed mysteriously upon me with such a frown that was sure to send me wild with fright. But Aunt was a wonderful woman in my life, for a time.  
Over the months, new girls came and attended the boarding school. I shall never forget the kindness of one Emma Gilbert, who had been sent to the school by her father, a Lieutenant Gilbert in the army of Her Majesty. She sympathized with me, and smiled every time my eyes met hers, either at dinner or when she read for the classroom. I am sure I must have been strange to anybody, but Emma was very compassionate and encouraged me to be so to everyone else. The first day we met was when I had again been wandering the garden in simple-mindedness over my presence there.  
"My name is Emma," she began, a bright smile playing upon her lips. "What is your name?" I hesitated before replying, "Agnes Clayton"  
"You must not be frightened, Agnes," she resumed, "the girls here are charming. They laugh at you because they want to know why you do not speak so much. I shall tell them that you are sad, for it is true, is it not"  
I looked down. "Yes, I am. But I am frightened, as well. I don't know why I am here. I did all my schooling in America, when my mother taught me"  
"Ah, then you are homesick? I understand. I am as well, sometimes, because I miss my father and mother often. But there must be a reason why your mother wants you to go to school again – perhaps you will not understand it until you are older"  
"I have no mother, nor do I have a father. I was sent here by my aunt and uncle, who are in York"  
"Oh. I am sorry, Agnes. Come, will you let me help you collect roses for the table? I'm sure the other girls will find them a complete delight"  
From that day on, I felt so ashamed of myself each time Emma met me strolling the grounds of that boarding school. What a humiliating marvel I had become over the months to those who met me! I had not concerned myself with the thought of others, and if they might be feeling something of a discomfiture. Now I realised what must be done. I must ask for my teachers' as well as classmates' forgiveness for the annoyance I had inflicted upon them. So the following morning (though it gave me little pleasure because I did not care so much for talking), I raised my hand to speak during breakfast. It was a sight to see, for as I looked to the headmistress, Miss Blackstone, her eyes grew very large and she discontinued the consumption of her breakfast with a crash of her utensil. Her mouth gaped open as I remained with my hand in the air waiting for a reply. Indeed, the whole class began murmuring and looking to one another, seemingly sure a speechless young girl's voice had suddenly come to life. Miss Blackstone had always been sensitive. But when force was necessary, or seemed to be in her view, she would give it. Otherwise, she was a fool in the area of standing strong in her beliefs (as Mother had often taught me to be). I am certain she never cared for convictions, and was unstable concerning her own, whatever they might have been. She was a heavyset, middle-aged lady, always dressed in the most elaborate of schoolteacher clothing imaginable. If it was not the gown in which she attended a ball, I am surprised. She had two or three tutors below her, and they each delighted in competing one another as the visualized pin-ball balanced upon their chins when any of us gave them no amusement. They were as old as my mother had been when she died: around the age of five and twenty, and no more; which allowed me to be reminded of her from time to time. But their characters were not those of Mother's; she was a much more amiable woman than they. As I stood there, the moments lengthened, and Miss Blackstone's astonishment increased as well. My classmates' rumors soon ceased as they turned their heads to look at our headmistress and see what she should do. Then she slowly stood and approached me.  
"You may replace your hand, Mistress Imbecile," said she, with pretended agony.  
The girls roared with laughter, as I placed my hand back down shamefacedly. But she continued indifferently:  
"What it is you want?" "Please, Miss Blackstone, I wish to say something"  
"Well, the girl speaks!" she said, looking to one of the other teachers. "Say it, and reseat yourself. We do not allow beating about the bush, here. Speak it out"  
I looked down, then caught sight of Emma's warm smile, which gave me a sudden charge of courage.  
"I wish to say, ma'am," I began, "that I am sorry for not speaking to you when you asked it. I wish to beg your pardon, ma'am, and everyone else's, and ask for your forgiveness"  
There was a pause.  
"I am sure I do not understand," she replied with a confused sigh, resting a hand upon her hip. "Do you even know what forgiveness is, child"  
"Yes, Miss Blackstone, and I beg you to give it. I have been selfish in thinking of no one but myself. Will you forgive me for all that I have caused? You and your assistants have been most kind toward me"  
Miss Blackstone looked down in disbelief. I had been known as the one who never spoke, and literally acted like one who had been born a hermit, knowing nothing of how speaking was done. "I give it, child. We all do, freely. And I anticipate an increased sense of happiness in your mannerism and achievements. For indeed, you have been placed in an excellent institution; I only hope you may come to appreciate it as you ought"  
"Thank you, Miss Blackstone"  
"You may be seated," she replied. Then, directing her comments to all the other girls, she began: "From this day forward, we shall name the Imbecile as she ought to be named: Mistress Agnes. Following your daily instruction, you will find her, and you will treat her as you are compelled to. She is now one of us. She must not be considered as an outsider any longer, and you will share with her your own possessions as you share them with the others. You will bid her goodnight, just as you do one another, and you will bid her good morning, as you do one toward each. I have no more to say, except that Mistress Agnes will find that she is no longer to be rejected in any manner." I must give Miss Blackstone the credit of setting things right again. Even if she knew nothing of stability, she knew what might be the feelings of those who had been accustomed to make sport of me before I had expressed regret. I thanked her for this that very evening, when the establishment was quiet and the other girls had been preparing for bed. She had been playing the piano, as she did every night, and now resumed after I had spoken. Then she turned to me, still playing, and softly said, "You really ought to be with the other girls, Agnes"  
"Yes, Miss Blackstone, but I must thank you again for all that you have done"  
Suddenly, she stopped playing and looked at me severely, yet in her eyes, I detected a kind of careful sadness. There was a moment of silence as we each stared into each other's eyes until she stood, her tall but plump figure towering mine, and reached to place my shawl more securely round my shoulders.  
"You have always been my favourite," she quietly stated. This statement confused me a great deal more than I had ever been doubtful in my life. Miss Blackstone was not particular as to having favourites, and she had always named me, with the others, the "imbecile" or something like. What had changed her tone of spirit toward me?  
"Miss Blackstone," I began, but she interrupted.  
"No, I will not hear it, Agnes. You must join the other girls and dress yourself for the night. I will not have you late for breakfast in the morning. How are they treating you"  
Now she beckoned me to stroll beside her, her arm lovingly laid over my shoulders and her caring face looking down into mine. There was no longer a mocking harshness in her voice, but a tone in which affection boldly stated itself. I felt safe now, in the loving care of the headmistress of the school, and though my first impression of her had been one of grimness, I had misjudged her and had been blindly prejudiced as to her true character. I looked up into her eyes cautiously and replied,  
"Very nicely, Miss Blackstone. Emma has especially been good and kind to me. And Gertrude is a very humble sort of girl. I often dream of becoming like them. Although Alice is not always in the best of spirits, she truly has a gentle heart, one that I would wish to have"  
At that moment, Miss Blackstone knelt down beside me and clutched my hands in hers.  
"Dear Agnes! I would not have you say that you haven't a gentle heart! You are trying your best to be a good little girl, and I am very proud of you. You ought not to meddle with such thoughts." Soon after, I lay in bed, weeping. The unexpected turn of Miss Blackstone made me cry for joy. I slept in a shared bed, so that I was not alone. Gertrude was chosen long ago as my mutual companion, to which I gladly partook. She had been sent over by her mother's son, the girl's half-brother, who had been chosen for her guardian since their mother had given way to drunkenness and had been forced to live in the slums of London. I felt a sincere liking to Gertrude, for though her mother lived, it did not seem so. To her, she assumed the death of her mother, and that she had left her bygone fortune to that of her son.  
Now as I lay weeping for the joy that had just been brought to light, Gertrude turned to me and wrapped her arm round my neck. She must have been half-asleep, but when I sniffed back a few tears, she whispered wearily,  
"Agnes, we love you. You know we do. Don't cry; you aren't sad anymore, are you? Miss Blackstone loves you too. She always has. She often names you her adopted daughter, and Alice has always been jealous of that"  
It seemed too much, for I began weeping anew tears that seemed not to stop for anything. I turned over and laid a hand upon her neck as we embraced and fell asleep.

**_TO be continued, Lord willing..._**


End file.
